At War in Love. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part IV

Chapter 7. The Troubles of the Royals

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Cameth Brin Palace. November 5, 1347, at dusk.
Written by Gordis
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The early darkness was gathering outside the high arched windows of the Palace dining room. King Tarnendur and Queen Eilinel were having an early supper - the queen maintained that that it was unhealthy to eat right before going to bed, so they had the evening meal earlier than the Princes, earlier than everyone else in the Palace.

There were just the two of them, as Eilinel sent the servants away once they had brought the dishes. She cherished these moments of privacy, and liked to fill the King's plate and pour his wine herself, without servants getting in the way. To Eilinel, it felt more like a normal family supper and, as an additional advantage, allowed her to control the King's appetite. Tarnendur tended to eat too much for his own good, more than it was prudent in his advanced age, she thought, pushing the plate with assorted cheeses further away from the King.

She had already won another hard battle - sent away the Gondorian chef Tarnendur brought with him and hired a local Rhudaurian cook who served plain healthy ware, instead of fancy meals of the south, those horrible alien dishes seasoned with hot spices to the point of making a person unused to them choke to death.

Today the King seemed preoccupied and munched silently, without appetite, a frown on his brow. He drank unreasonably much though, Eilinel noticed and congratulated herself for her cleverness: she ordered the servants to dilute the King's wine by half, so it couldn't do any real harm. But then her heart sank and she twitched uneasily - she remembered the difficult question she had to discuss.

She cleared her throat twice, before the king's gaze finally alighted on her.

"My Lord," she started in a small voice.

"Why so formal, my dearest?" the King smiled encouragingly. "Forgive my silence, Eilinel. Those affairs of State... I try to leave them behind when I am with you, but they keep crawling back into my mind."

"I understand, Tarnendur, and I don't blame you. But there is something I heard that worries me greatly, to the point that I can't keep it to myself. I think you should know it, my love. The Palace is astir with gossip."

The King sat back in his chair and groaned loudly. "As if it is not enough to have Broggha on my back, and all those conniving Councilors, and untrustworthy troops, and the winter approaching with cold and famine and what's not - no, I should also be bothered with the Palace gossip!" he complained.

Eilinel's eyes filled with tears, which instantly made the King ashamed of his words. He took her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. " Forgive me Eilinel, my darling! What is it about?"

Eilinel sniffed and wiped her tears. "I heard it from my own maid this afternoon, but then I questioned other maids as well - and got the same story. There is a new ostler at the Stables - he came here a couple of weeks ago with a beautiful redhead wife. Soon this fellow went away on the trip to Brochenridge - leaving the young wife behind. She was pregnant, he said, so he asked not to give her any work. Then with her husband scarcely away, the woman set out to ensnare our Daurendil - can you believe it?!"

The King looked appropriately shocked at this revelation, so Eilinel hurried to continue. "She made him invite her for a hunt - an ostler's wife riding among the Princes and Princesses! Everyone noticed that Daurendil was quite smitten - to the point to make Odaragariel quite upset - poor thing! And then, this very morning, Daurendil appeared in the servants quarters, where this vixen dwells, carrying a big box - a present for her! The servants were most curious what it contained, so quite a few watched in stealth how the woman left the room. She was dressed like a queen they say - meaning not like me, of course, as I have little interest in fancy dresses, but like a queen from a fairy-tale - all in furs, velvets and golden embroidery. They say she rode all through Cameth Brin to visit her friends and to flaunt her dress across the city."

"Wait, wait..." the King rose a warning hand. "Not so fast. Let me get this straight. So, Daurendil presented her with a DRESS and she has ACCEPTED it?"

"Quite so, my Lord, there can't be any doubt about it. It is absolutely shocking. But there is more. They say the conniving woman is so set on becoming the Prince's mistress that she has got rid of the unborn baby in her womb - the very day she met Daurendil!!!" The queen's voice lowered to a hoarse whisper "And some say she wants to get rid of her husband as well - that is why she managed to send him away! And with him dead she plans to become not Daurendil's mistress, but his WIFE"

Tarnendur snorted and shook his head "It is absolutely crazy - there is no way for a groom's widow to become a future queen! I have to talk with Daurendil, however - the boy was foolish enough to court a married woman in the first place, and he is far too young for romantic pursuits!"

"Oh, please, don't do it, I beg you, my Lord!' Eilinel cried. "I know my Daurendil - he is obstinate, he wouldn't be deterred by mere words, even those of his Father or myself. Instead, seeing the challenge, his foolish attachment to this awful woman will only increase... I don't know what to do, my Lord, for our son is in grave danger!"

"Nonsense, Eilinel", replied the King with a reassuring smile. "Don't fret too much. What danger could there be for Daurendil? - Only some unpleasantness and embarrassment. I will consider the matter and most likely will send someone to this groom, when he returns, to order him to restrain his wife."

Tarnendur rose to his feet and nodded to the Queen. "Now I will leave you for awhile, my love, as I still have things to attend to, but I will be back with you shortly and we will share a pleasant evening."

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Cameth Brin Palace. November 5, 1347, evening.
Written by Valandil
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King Tarnendur sat impatiently watching Eilinel’s ladies-in-waiting finish the elaborate arrangements of her braids of hair – an activity she ever insisted upon before she would retire for the evening. He took another sip from the goblet of spiced wine before him as he reclined in a great chair, his feet propped up before him. He turned his head and appraised the form of his wife. Not the sort to set every young man’s fancy aflutter – but Tarnendur was no longer a young man. The night was young though, and he had not lingered in his chambers, as he did late into most evenings. Eilinel would know why.

He wondered if she felt trapped in her marriage to an older man, young as she was. Gimilbeth had raged violently at the news that he would marry her those years ago – alternating with taunts about her age. But no girl liked to have her mother replaced by another woman – and to have a “new mother” young enough to be your daughter must have been particularly galling.

Ah – but there had been purpose in it; alliance, the production of an heir, unity and a chance for stability in the realm. Bah – if Eilinel felt trapped, what did it matter. She was but a woman, and would do him her wifely duty.

It had been long though. 'How long…?' he thought, as his eyes idly looked her up and down. Despite his age, he was still quite vigorous when they had first married – oh how they had frolicked! Of course, that was mostly on the times Gimilbeth had been away on her trip to Gondor. Yes – Eilinel was so much more relaxed when she was gone – apart from her alarm at this evening’s dinner, but that had nothing to do with Gimilbeth, at least. Tarnendur started to realize that he was more relaxed too. Well… this trip she had taken for the winter might do him a lot of good, he thought to himself with a low chuckle. Maybe he ought to send Gimilbeth away more often… make her his ambassador to Arthedain… or Gondor!

His eyes wandered up to three views of Eilinel's face. Three mirrors sat before her at her table. One of those was blocked from his view, so he saw her reflection at different angles in the other two, and her own face in profile slightly from behind. A noble face it was – and gentle too. An old man like himself could hardly forget the wife of his own youth, but Eilinel was fair – in her own way.

Just then she caught his eye in one of her mirrors. “That is enough. You may leave me,” she said to the four ladies hovering behind her. When they had gone, she sat still for a while, then rose and turned toward him.

“You are not often with me when I go to bed, my husband. Are you well? Has the day been long?” she asked with a slight smile.

“Yes, I mean no… I am well, the day has not been so very long. But Eilinel, I have neglected you,” he said, moving toward her.

“A King… must have many duties. His wife understands this,” yet she drew near to him herself. His arms slowly encircled her, and she leaned into his body.

Suddenly Tarnendur laughed and leaned back, gently gripping Eilinel’s arms. Her hands came up to hold his wrists, and she stood looking at his face with a smile, waiting to here the source of his sudden amusement.

“Eilinel – I see so much reason to have hope these days. And the short days of winter draw near. How long has it been since we’ve had a proper Yule Festival here at Cameth Brin? Well, I swear to you now that we shall have one this year – and it shall be in your honor – in the honor of Queen Eilinel!”

Eilinel was charmed and joined him in his laughter, telling him what a splendid idea it was, while her mind was already at work on arrangements to be made, what kind of dress should be fashioned for her, and the kinds of food they should serve.

But Tarnendur placed his arms about her more firmly now, and he was no longer laughing. He drew her to himself and kissed her powerfully. His hands began to caress her and she surrendered herself to his embrace as they made their way half onto the bed.

Then came a great pounding on the door.

With a look of frustration, Tarnendur called out, “Oh… what is it?!?”

“Important message for the King. From Merendil, Your Highness.”

As Tarnendur’s frustration mounted, Eilinel gave way to resignation. “It’s alright dear. There will be other nights.” Then rallying herself with a small smile, added with a wink, “More than fifty ere the Yule!"

Tarnendur had arranged himself to depart and waited for Eilinel to compose herself before drawing open the door and setting off down the hall for where the messenger awaited him.

The message was short and to the point:
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November 4, 1347

King Tarnendur,

While returning to Cameth Brin, have discovered that a band of Orcs, perhaps 300 or more, have infiltrated the land and had observed our earlier passage, and have since set off in a direction which might intercept Princess Gimilbeth’s party before they reach the Last Bridge. Had already assigned her 40 men – may not be sufficient. Am giving chase with all available men, in hopes of reaching her in time.

I know not from whence these have come, or how they breached our borders, nor if others are about as well. Having no time to ponder these things which you must, I turn only to the attempted rescue of your eldest child.

Regards,

Captain Merendil
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Tarnendur read the message first in haste, then again in alarm. At last, after several more re-readings, he pondered long on its words. Then he questioned the man who had delivered the message and released him to take his rest.

But Tarnendur sprang into action. The Council of Rhudaur must meet tomorrow – so messengers were sent to all council members, summoning them to a special meeting to begin two hours before noontide. His young advisors… they would have to wait. Word was sent for them to meet with him tomorrow evening.

Then long he sat up that evening, turning over in his mind what all this meant and how he must respond to this new crisis.

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Cameth Brin Palace. November 5, 1347, evening.
Written by Valandil
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He had THOUGHT about kissing her hand, but decided on a less intimate gesture of a bow while holding her hand… in such a way that it COULD have been kissed. But too quickly, it seemed, he had lowered his hand, loosened his hold, and her own hand had been withdrawn. The final good-byes were said, her door closed before them, and Eryndil and Hendegil turned to make their way back to his home.

As they descended the stairs to the next level down, they came right into the middle of a great commotion. One of the head servants was dashing about, shouting, “Where is the King? Where is the King? Important message for the King from Merendil!” Behind him stood a soldier, who wore signs of long days upon the road and who kept on hand on a small pouch that hung over his shoulder.

“Come on Hendegil – let me get you home quickly,” said Eryndil.

“Why? What could this mean, Eryndil?”

“I don’t know, but it might be trouble. And Callon was with Merendil.”

“I know…” said Hendegil.

They hurried on down the stairs as servants shouted behind them, “He’s not in his Throne Room.” “Not in his Study!” “Not in his Council Chamber – or his private Bed Chamber.” “This guard says he’s… in the Royal Bed Chamber…”

Eryndil walked Hendegil back through the busy palace grounds, the bustling main streets of Cameth Brin, then the quiet, darker streets that led toward his home. When they arrived, he did not stay long, but simply bade his sister get on up to bed - or to join the family - if they still sat up, gave her a hug good-night, and went back out the front door – back toward the palace.

When Erydnil reached the palace, there was not quite the same commotion as when he left, but still more bustle than usual. Eryndil asked to see the King and was led straightaway to his Study, announced, and ushered in. The King was standing before him and Eryndil bowed and said, “My Lord,” and waited for Tarnendur to speak.

“Eryndil? Did your message come so soon? I sent word for you to come tomorrow evening, not this evening. In the morning I must meet with the Council – so I can meet with you advisors only later, if at all.”

“I received no message – yet, my Lord. I was visiting here with my sister when word came of a messenger from Merendil. I returned her to my home and came back to hear what news.”

The King motioned for Eryndil to draw closer, so he complied. Then the King held out the message for Eryndil to read.

“This… this is grim news, my King.”

“Yes…” said the King, distantly. Then, after a long silence, “You say that your sister is in town, Eryndil?”

“Yes, my King,” answered Eryndil hesitantly, wondering at first why this question. Then, remembering his protocol, he continued, “My father the Thane has come as well. He has not yet presented himself before you for he only came today. And… had a bit of trouble on the road. And now, with the matter of Merendil’s message to deal with…” Any noble coming to town unsummoned was to present himself before the King at the earliest possible time.

“Nonsense,” replied Tarnendur. “He shall come tomorrow late afternoon – when I am finished with the Council. I have not seen your father in years now. How is he?”

“Well, my King.”

“You linger still. Is there something more?”

“Yes your Highness,” replied Eryndil. He had been unsure whether to ask. “The messenger who brought this – might I speak with him? I wish to hear more about the situation… directly from him, if I might?”

“Of course, of course…” replied the King, taking a seat and stroking his beard with one hand. “I have dismissed him. I suppose you’ll find him in the men’s quarters. Good night.”

“Good night, your Highness,” said Eryndil, departing. He hoped that the man might be able to tell him anything at all about Callon. Caelen would surely wish to know…